fancy meeting you here
by ExquisiteRose
Summary: An au where Shawn actually goes to the academy, so he didn't get called in for questioning for his tip, and Shawn and Carlton don't meet until years later on a bridge, where they're both ready to end their lives. [tw, attempted sucide/etc., and more inside].


**a/n: **This story was inspired by a lot of things. I have been wanting to write a story about Shawn and/or Carlton being suicidal for months now. Seriously, _months._And this is not exactly what I wanted (plot-wise), so there will probably be another _canon_ one-shot about Shawn/Carlton being suicidal someday, but for now this is what I have. Some lyrics from Human Sadness inspired this as well, also a otp au meeting post on tumblr ("Your OTP meeting with one about to jump off of a bridge and the other convincing them not to") except I changed it.

I'll probably come back and link where I posted this on my tumblr!

**EDIT**: post/101899055699/fancy-meeting-you-here

**Warnings: **attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, depression, etc. These are talked about pretty frankly, please don't read this if you're not okay with going into that mindset.

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><p>The sun is barely rising in the sky, streaking the wide, blue expanse with reds and yellows Shawn might have appreciated some other time. Birds are singing and the grass is green and specked with wildflowers.<p>

Shawn's surprised flowers grow here on the other side of the bridge, he's surprised at the beauty of the day when it's been so ugly lately, but only absently. He takes in all the details because he can't help it, it's what he's been raised to do all his life, what's finally brought him here, but they hardly matter.

His dad would probably disagree, because unimportant details like the number of hats in a room always seemed to matter more to Henry over his son having a life of his own choosing. Shawn wonders if Henry would be pleased his training was so deeply ingrained, even now, but it's without any bitterness. He isn't doing this out of spite. He's lived enough of his life for others already to make this about anyone else but himself.

Shawn's pleased in a way that the day should be so beautiful. He thinks it's symbolic in some way, that the day doesn't hint at the secrets it holds and neither does he. It's fitting, he supposes.

The bridge he's on is worn and moss crawls up the edges, soft under Shawn's fingers where he's gripping the stone railing. He's waiting, but he's not sure what he's waiting for.

Gus would probably say the day was a sign, him waiting was a sign, but Shawn doesn't believe in signs, fanciful messages from fate or a God he doesn't believe exists.

No, Shawn was waiting for something else, some sort of peace within himself. He hasn't felt anything in so long, only a hole of emptiness so deep even Gus couldn't hope to stopper it.

A very distant pang goes through him at the thought of Gus and how hard he'd tried. Everyone was so sure he was finally adjusting, it's almost laughable. Shawn wants to laugh, at Henry, at his mom, at anything. He wants to laugh with Gus again and mean it.

He wishes he could have told Gus sincerely that he was alright when he left that morning. Mostly, he wishes he wasn't as good of an actor as he was and that he hadn't convinced Gus to let him leave because Gus would ultimately blame himself.

It's not enough to make him want to stop, though, and he kicks a few rocks off the bridge into the river and rocks below. They plop into the water and create rings that Shawn doesn't find meaningful. The rocks would drift to the bottom and become part of the dirt there, soft and settled into place, and the rings on the water would only disturb the surface for a few moments and their impact would be forgotten afterwards.

The air shifts, the wind blowing gently as the sun finally sets in the sky. Shawn looks back up at the sky, pink and cloudless, and thinks of something he read a long time ago when studying for his exam to become a detective, about people being less likely to commit suicide on days this bright.

He snorts as he loosens his fingers around the rail. If Gus couldn't stop him, neither could the bright, sunshiny day.

x.x.x.x

It's not like Carlton expected this.

He'd made meticulous plans, made sure to cut all his lose ends, even left letters to explain everything, copies of which he had had, folded and sweaty, in his pocket to read over in his last moments.

Maybe the Chief would be the only one at work to read past the first few paragraphs with sincere interest, maybe Victoria would be surprised he wasn't killed by someone he'd arrested, and he hopes Hank will remember Old Sonora and what it'd meant when both he and the town die down.

Carlton shouldn't be surprised that all his plans should be ruined this easily, but he is.

Another person is already on the bridge, and Carlton is equally annoyed and curious by their presence. He can't very well do what he meant to now, but he could wait until the stranger left. Standing off to the side, Carlton observed him as he waited.

The man is maybe thirty. He's scruffy but handsome, laugh lines around his mouth and his eyes, hair swept into a lightly gelled mess that looks intentional. He's smiling very slightly as he looks out at the water, and his hands are holding very lightly to the railing. He looks happy, but Carlton knows that looks can be deceiving from personal experience.

The man sighs and he smiles a little wider, almost laughs, and Carlton realizes, as the man's fingers unwrap from the railing, what he's doing and that he can't let him do it.

He runs forward, reaching out and grabbing for the stranger without realizing the hypocrisy of his interference, that he was here to do the same thing.

The stranger startles and loses his footing, but Carlton's gripping his arm tightly and the stranger grips instinctively back in alarm. His eyes are wide, blinking rapidly before narrowing up at Carlton. Carlton ignores his stare and hauls the stranger back up onto the bridge.

It's silent for a moment as the man catches his breath, and Carlton can't look up at him. "Why did you," the stranger begins after a moment, pauses. Carlton fidgets. The stranger doesn't continue.

In the silence, Carlton reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of the letters, which he hands to the stranger, who grabs it warily.

It's the letter he'd written to Hank, and the stranger reads it expressionlessly for a few moments and then hands it back. Sighs and shifts his feet. Runs a restless hand through the controlled mess of his hair and pulls the strands into a distressed spike. Then, he slowly offers Carlton his hand.

"Shawn," the stranger finally says roughly, introducing himself.

Carlton pauses, considers Shawn.

This doesn't mean he's changed Shawn's mind, and it doesn't mean he's changed his own, but they value each other's lives, perfect strangers lives', enough that they can't just leave one to their business, despite the fact that they feel the same way and might come back even, and Carlton knows that it means something that each other's lives not ending mean so much more than their own, and apparently Shawn does, too.

It might just mean that they have to wait another day, but Carlton's going to accept it for now. He shakes Shawn's hand.

"Carlton," he replies.

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><p><strong>an:** *mumbles quietly in a corner about reviews*


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